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Frontispiece. 


JUST    AT   THE    MARGIN    OF   THE   WOOD 
A   FAIR    YOUNG    LASSIE    COYLY   STOOD." 


Page  13. 


SIR    RAE. 


A   POEM. 


N 


WITH  ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT   &   CO. 

1877. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1876,  by 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT   &   CO. 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED   TO 


THE    MISSES    GLASSELL, 


OF    LOS   ANGELES, 


FOR    WHOSE   AMUSEMENT   THE    POEM    WAS    WRITTEN 


BY   THE   AUTHOR. 


SAN  FRANCISCO,  April  17,  1876. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THIS  poem  was  commenced  nearly  a  year  ago.  The 
first  canto  I  recited  to  the  late  Mrs.  C.  L.  Ford,  of  this 
city,  a  lady  of  great  literary  taste  and  refinement.  She 
encouraged  me  to  finish  the  story;  said  she  liked  the 
rhythm  and  plot,  but  advised  me  to  take  off  the  shoes 
and  stockings  from  Maidee's  feet,  as  no  lassie  raised 
in  a  Highland  hut  indulged  in  that  luxury.  I  thanked 
my  dear  friend  for  the  advice,  which  I  promised  to  follow. 

On  my  return,  however,  I  placed  the  manuscript  in 
my  portfolio,  with  many  other  unfinished  writings,  and 
left  it  with  little  care  for  its  future.  Last  winter,  two 
young  ladies  who  were  visiting  me  drew  it  from  its 


g  INTRODUCTION. 

lurking-place,  and   insisted  on  my  finishing  it  for  their 
amusement. 

I  have  endeavored  to  gratify  them ;  and  if  the  public 
shall  prove  half  as  kind  and  lenient  in  its  criticism  of 
my  poor  effort,  I  shall  be  well  satisfied. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL.,  1876. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Just  at  the  margin  of  the  wood 
A  fair  young  lassie  coyly  stood"    . 

In  Highland  kilt,  on  foaming  steed"     . 
The  humble  cot  of  old  Dame  Jean" 
The  mountain  bird  would  plume  his  wing' 
Beneath  a  sultry  southern  sky"     . 

Here  in  this  box  on  which  I  sit 
Is  her  rich  trousseau  pack'd  away" 

1  Thus  many  days  they  journeyed  through, 
Ere  the  old  castle  came  in  view"  . 

2 


.     Frontispiece. 

.  15 

.  25 

•  33 

•  37 

•  43 
.  51 


PAGE 


I0  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"A  structure  grand,  of  mossy  stone"       .......     57 

"  It  is  thy  master  I  would  see"          ...... 

"  The  sporting  season  was  advanced"      ..... 

"  Standing  alone  was  Lady  Clare"  ........     71 

"  A  groom  led  forward  Dapple  Gray" •     75 


SIR    R  A  E. 


LIBRARIAN 

UNIYER8ITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA. 


CANTO    FIRST. 

i. 

vS  early  morn  in  Highland  glen, 
Where  rocks  and  heather,  fern  and  fen, 
Bordered  the  brooklets,  plashing  through 
Tall  forests,  bright  with  sun- tipped  dew. 
Just  at  the  margin  of  the  wood 
A  fair  young  lassie  coyly  stood. 
Her  dress,  a  faded,  outgrown  blue, 
With  dimpled  elbows  peeping  through  ; 
An  old  straw  hat  coquettish  laid 
O'er  sunny,  laughing  eyes  to  shade ; 
And  fondly  o'er  her  shoulders  fair 
Twined  many  a  golden  tress  of  hair. 
In  rose-tint  contrast  with  the  green, 
Two  little  feet  could  well  be  seen, — 
Feet  that  oft  kiss  the  mountain  dews, 

All  free  alike  from  socks  and  shoes. 

13 


RAE. 


II. 

Her  face  was  radiant  with  joy 
As  a  tall  lad,  more  man  than  boy, 
In  Highland  kilt,  on  foaming  steed, 
Pranced  to  her  side  with  bated  speed. 
His  brow  was  damp  with  exercise ; 
His  ruddy  cheeks,  his  dark-blue  eyes, 
Earnest  of  health  and  youthful  glee, 
Bespoke  a  heart  from  sorrow  free. 

in. 

"  Maidee  !"  he  cried,  "  none  e'er  so  true 
As  this  bright  day  I've  proved  to  you ; 
Lord  Duncan  planned  such  sport  this  morn, 
That,  but  for  you,  with  hound  and  horn 
I'd  lead  with  him  a  merry  race, 
Hunting  the  wild  deer  in  the  chase." 
She  answered,  with  a  child-like  grace, 
Warm  blushes  mantling  o'er  her  face, 
"  I'm  almost  sorry  you  should  choose 
For  me  such  royal  sport  to  lose. 
Of  late  I've  suffered  doubt  and  fear, 
Lest  it  be  wrong,  our  meeting  here. 


IN    HIGHLAND    KILT,  ON    FOAMING   STLED.'  /Vj£V  14. 


•  OF 

L  OAMFOBNIA, 

-•-*&* 


RAE. 

Jean's  glances  grow  suspicious,  cold ; 
She  says  I'm  getting  forward,  bold : 
Leaving  my  books  to  tramp  the  wood 
With  you  will  never  end  in  good. 
And,  Rae,  she  has  an  evil  eye 
While  watching  you,  I  know  not  why. 
She  says  your  friends  will  all  despise 
The  one  so  lovely  in  your  eyes." 

IV. 

"  Oh,  fie  !  fie  !  fie  !  My  Maidee  fair, 
What  high-born  lass  could  e'er  compare 
With  half  the  goodness,  half  the  grace, 
Or  half  the  beauty  of  your  face  ? 
It  seems  to  perfect  every  hour, 
Like  dawning  bud  to  opening  flower. 
Maidee  !  an  angel  must  have  given 
Dame  Jean  the  fairest  out  of  heaven. 
You  seem  no  part  of  that  old  crone ; 
The  violet,  by  jagged  stone, 
Oft  thrives  in  sweetness  'neath  its  frown  ; 
And  yet  no  kindred  they  have  known 
Of  each  to  each.     Her  learning  great 

Is  all  that  e'er  could  compensate 
3 


For  ugliness  so  like  a  curse 

Old  Satan  could  not  make  it  worse." 

v. 

Thrice  as  he  spake,  her  finger  shook 
In  warning  gesture  ;  bade  him  look 
At  the  gaunt  figure  drawing  near, 
While  her  own  heart  stood  still  with  fear. 
Slowly  she  came,  the  withered  crone, 
In  towering  rage  toward  the  stone 
Where  leaned  the  youthful  lovers  true. 
At  her  approach  young  Rae  withdrew. 
In  eager  haste  to  get  away, 
He  quickly  mounted  Dapple  Gray  ; 
For  well  he  knew  he  could  not  tame, 
And  might  provoke,  the  surly  dame. 

VI. 

But  not  so  fast ;  for  gliding  through 
A  nearer  pass,  hidden  from  view, 
She  sprang  before  him,  bade  him  "  Stay, 
Proud  hawk  !  or  vulture  thou  !  Sir  Rae  ! 

More  cruel  in  thy  dangerous  love 
Than  beast  of  wild-wood,  bird  of  prey, 

Winning  the  heart  of  this  poor  dove. 


SIR   RAE. 

Go  !  seek  thine  equal  in  a  mate  ! 

Dream  not  of  that  which  cannot  be, 
Nor  longer  tempt  the  curse  of  fate, 

By  meeting  here  clandestinely. 
This  child  knows  nothing  of  the  wrong 

Thy  honeyed  words  to  her  will  bring ; 
She  listens  to  their  sweetest  song, 

But  little  kens  the  future  sting. 
Therefore  begone  !     I'll  not  endure 

Thy  presence  longer.     She  could  claim 
Blood  as  your  own  as  good  and  pure, 

And  she  could  boast  as  proud  a  name." 

VII. 

Scarce  had  she  finished,  when  there  came 

Lord  Duncan,  dashing  on  his  way. 
He  halted  near  the  angry  dame, 

And  cast  a  lowering  glance  at  Rae. 
"  So  !     This  the  game  that  brings  you  here, 

That  every  other  sport  you  pass, 
To  hunt  the  fawn,  but  not  the  deer. 

Who  is  yon  gawky  mountain  lass  ?" 


20  SIR  RAE. 

VIII. 

The  flashing  light  in  Rae's  dark  eyes 
Lord  Duncan's  haughty  glance  defies. 
Dismounting,  quickly  to  her  side 
He  springs,  and,  in  his  boyish  pride, 
Claims  her,  his  first  and  only  love. 
"  A  fawn,  but  not  a  gawk,  I'll  prove. 
Uncle  !  this  little  Maidee  fair 
Is  dear  to  me  as  light  and  air  ; 
And,  when  to  my  estates  I  come, 
I'll  take  this  treasure  to  my  home." 
His  bonnet  doffed,  dark  chestnut  hair 
Played  in  the  breeze,  o'er  brow  as  fair 
As  Maidee's  own,  yet  broad  and  high, 
While  deep,  dark  brows  o'erarch  each  eye, 
A  noble  head,  a  manly  face, 
Where  intellect  and  cultured  grace 
Gave  promise  to  the  future  man 
As  worthy  chieftain  of  his  clan. 

IX. 

Poor  Maidee,  fluttering  like  a  bird, 
Her  brave,  defiant  lover  heard ; 


SIR  RAE.  21 

Yet  unprepared  was  she,  or  he, 

To  hear  a  loud  laugh  echo  free 

Through  canyons  deep,  from  crag  to  plain, 

As  if  exulting  in  her  pain. 

Lord  Duncan's  laugh,  in  mocking  jest, 

Sunk  like  a  dagger  in  her  breast. 

"  Take  me  away  !"   she  cried.     "  I  know 

This  is  all  wrong ;  it  must  be  so. 

Go  with  his  Lordship,  noble  Rae, 

And  think  not  I'll  forget  this  day, 

But  in  its  memory  only  live. 

Lord  Duncan,  will  you  please  forgive  ? 

You  are  so  wise  you  must  be  right. 

Rae,  he  has  put  your  fawn  to  flight !" 

x. 

Seizing  Jean's  arm,  who  lingered  near, 
Boiling  with  rage,  restrained  by  fear, 
Lest  speaking  she  might  there  reveal 
A  secret  she  would  fain  conceal, 
She  hurried  her  within  the  wood, 
While  all  in  dazed  amazement  stood. 


22 


XI. 

Lord  Duncan's  laugh  was  silenced  there 
By  her  heart  pleading  as  in  prayer. 
Her  eloquence,  refined  and  pure, 
Proudly  to  suffer  and  endure, 
Gave  to  his  cheek  a  deeper  glow, 
As  if  his  conscience  felt  a  blow. 
Rae  stood  in  doubt  one  moment,  when 
The  sportsmen,  prancing  o'er  the  glen, 
Reined  up  to  wait  Lord  Duncan's  will. 
And  he,  all  other  thoughts  to  kill, 
Gave  Rae  the  hounds  to  lead  the  way, 
And  finish  up  the  sport  that  day. 


CANTO    SECOND. 

i. 

NEAR  a  bleak  mountain-cliff  there  stood 

The  humble  cot  of  old  Dame  Jean, 
Scarce  sheltered  by  the  dark  wild-wood 

That  threw  its  shadows  o'er  the  plain. 
Eccentric  in  her  strange  recluse, 

Her  neighbors  never  ventured  near, 
But  at  their  distance  gave  abuse 

Such  as  'twas  well  escaped  her  ear. 
Some  said  her  learning  great  she  got 

From  Satan,  in  her  league  with  him ; 
That  his  black  imps  around  her  cot 

Would  dance  until  the  stars  grew  dim  ; 
And  that  they  bro't,  one  stormy  night, 

To  her  a  little  elfin  sprite. 

23 


RAE. 


II. 

And  some  said  they  remembered  well 

The  day  the  old  wife  came  herself, 
With  strange,  strong  boxes  ;  none  could  tell 

If  she  was  witch  or  fairy  elf. 
She  spoke  no  word  to  lad  or  lass, 

But  the  two  cartmen  who  had  bro't 
Her  with  her  boxes  up  the  pass, 

To  take  possession  of  the  cot, 
Said  she  was  ever  crooning  o'er 

A  bundle  on  her  scrawny  arm, 
As  'twere  a  wee  born  bairn  she  bore, 

And  feared  that  it  would  come  to  harm. 
She  heeded  not  their  words  or  thought, 
Protected  by  that  haunted  spot. 

in. 

There  Maidee  grew,  her  friends  the  flowers. 

By  grand  old  crag  or  mossy  stone, 
Or  by  the  pebbled  brook,  for  hours 

She'd  play,  nor  dream  she  was  alone. 
The  mountain  bird  would  plume  his  wing, 

And  bathe  within  the  rippling  tide  ; 


RAE. 


His  sweetest  songs  for  her  he'd  sing, 

Perched  on  a  hawthorn  by  her  side. 

ff 

Then  on  a  summer  day  there  came, 
Riding  a  splendid  dapple  gray, 


THE   HUMBLE   COT   OF   OLD    DAME   JEAN."  Page  23. 


A  brave  young  lad ;  his  horse  was  lame 

From  stones  and  brambles  on  his  way. 
Jean  welcomed  him,  a  little  guest, 
His  horse's  wounds  with  balsam  dressed. 

4 


26 


IV. 

Often  he  came,  and  Maidee's  joy 

Was  lovely  in  its  artless  glee. 
She  learned  to  love  the  brave,  strange  boy, 

Who  rode  about  so  fearlessly. 
He'd  give  the  rein  to  Dapple  Gray, 

And  let  him  wander  off  alone, 
Or  watch  himself  and  Maidee  play 

The  merry  games  to  children  known. 
Rae,  in  his  youthful  ardor,  thought 

The  old  wife,  rich  in  classic  lore, 
Which  she  the  little  Maidee  taught 

With  lessons  hard,  an  ample  store,  — 
Was  some  old  fairy  queen,  who  tried 
In  that  strange,  ugly  form  to  hide. 

v. 

So  time  rolled  on,  until  they  grew 

To  love,  as  only  children  can, 
Unselfish,  genial,  pure,  and  true, 

The  dawning  years  from  youth  to  man. 
Her  form,  in  pliant,  lithesome  grace, 

Developed  from  the  chubby  child, 


SIR  RAE. 

And  true  refinement  took  the  place 
Of  romping  girlhood  running  wild. 

Her  mind  had  been  Jean's  greatest  care ; 
A  firm,  strict  teacher,  cold,  severe. 

Rae  longed  her  lessons  hard  to  share, 
Yet  of  old  Jean  felt  dread  and  fear. 

She  scowled  on  him  with  jealous  eye, 

And  hated  him,  he  knew  not  why. 

VI. 

But  still  they  met ;  they  knew  no  wrong ; 

Twining  their  fates  as  wild  spring  flowers. 
She  listened  to  the  old,  old  song, 

And  heeded  not  the  fleeting  hours. 
The  rippling  brooklet  wandered  o'er 

Its  pebbled  bed  by  moss  and  fern, 
While  sweet  dissolving  views  it  bore 

Of  tableaux  never  to  return, — 
The  pure  in  heart,  that  knew  no  guile, 

To  whom  all  things  were  good  and  true. 
Rae  prized  as  life  each  dimpled  smile, 

And  she  such  joy  before  ne'er  knew 
As  when,  on  that  May  morn,  they  met, 
Before  their  sun  of  gladness  set. 


2g  S7X   RAE. 

VII. 

Three  days  had  passed  since  Maidee  woke 

So  sadly  from  her  heart's  first  dream. 
Lord  Duncan's  scorn,  like  a  rude  stroke, 

Had  troubled  all  life's  placid  stream. 
"  I  am  a  gawkie,  Jean  !"  she  cried. 

"  Such  scanty  garb  ill  suits  my  years. 
This  faded  gown  will  scarcely  hide 

My  form,  and  must  provoke  men's  jeers. 
Oh,  woe  is  me !     I  should  have  known 

'Twas  wrong  to  think  of  loving  him, 
And  in  this  plight  meet  him  alone. 

With  tears  of  shame  my  eyes  are  dim. 
Oh,  would  that  we  had  never  met, 
Or  all  the  past  I  could  forget !" 

VIII. 

Sullenly  silent  Jean  had  been, 

Nor  deigned  to  notice  Maidee's  grief. 

She  knew  the  child  was  free  from  sin, 
And  hoped  that  time  would  bring  relief. 

Maidee  at  last  all  fear  o'ercame, 

And  asked,  "  Who  am  I,  Jean  ?     My  blood 


RAE.  20 

You  said  to  Rae  was  pure  ;  my  name 
As  Scotland's  very  proudest, — good." 

The  old  crone  scarcely  changed  her  mood ; 
Her  wrinkled,  ugly,  evil  face 

Looked  strangely  sad  as  Maidee  stood 
Before  her  with  such  pleading  grace. 

Long  time  she  sat  with  wavering  eye, 

Then  said,  "  I'll  tell  thy  history. 

IX. 

"  Thou  hast  the  right  to  know,  and  yet 

My  heart  is  wrung  'tween  doubt  and  fear. 
Oh,  would  that  I  could  still  forget, 

As  I  have  oft  forgotten  here ! 
There  stands  a  castle  by  the  sea, 

Where  dwelt  a  noble  Scottish  earl. 
Broad  lands  and  power  great  had  he, 

And  one  fair  lass,  a  priceless  pearl 
To  his  fond  heart,  the  Lady  Clare ; 

My  foster-sister,  lovely,  true, 
So  beautiful  and  graceful.     There 

Was  contrast  strange  between  us  two, 
For  I  was  very  ugly,  poor, 
Born  just  to  live  and  to  endure. 


30  677?  RAE. 


X. 

"  Her  gentleness,  her  genial  heart 

Soon  found  my  sentiments  refined. 
Of  all  her  joys  I  shared  a  part, 

E'en  to  the  culture  of  her  mind. 
Her  birthday  ball,  on  her  debut, 

Was  gorgeous  in  its  grand  display, 
While  courtly  guests  were  marshal'd  through 

The  halls  with  garland  flowers  gay. 
Dressed  in  a  robe  of  fleecy  white, 

Her  unbound  wealth  of  golden  hair, 
That  seemed  ablaze  with  radiant  light, 

Made  her  the  star  of  beauty  there. 
So  young,  but  soon  to  be  a  wife, 
And  share  a  warrior's  dangerous  life. 

XI. 

"  Of  noble  birth  and  valor  great, 
Of  form  and  face  like  gods  of  yore, 

For  him  she  left  her  high  estate, 

And  with  him  sailed  for  India's  shore. 

Her  father's  heart  was  sorely  tried 
At  parting  with  his  only  child ; 


SIR  RAE.  3J 

He  long  embraced  the  bonny  bride, 

And  kissed  the  tears  through  which  she  smiled. 
Thy  lady  mother  gave  thee  birth 

Beneath  a  sultry  southern  sky, 
And,  as  one  angel  came  on  earth, 

Another  left  for  God  on  high. 
I  was  her  friend,  her  nurse ;  and  when 

She,  dying,  left  thee  to  my  care, 
I  brought  thee  to  this  Highland  glen, 

To  raise  thee  in  its  genial  air. 

XII. 

"  She  thought  I'd  take  thee  to  her  sire, 

I  knew  it  well ;  but  loved  him  not. 
As  she  expressed  no  such  desire, 

I  came  instead  to  this  lone  spot. 
Since  that  last  kiss  thy  father  pressed 

Upon  thy  little  infant  face, 
With  tearful  voice  his  daughter  blessed, 

Of  him  I've  lost  e'en  every  trace. 
That  he  was  wounded  ere  we  left 

I  knew,  and  then  I  heard  no  more, 
And  felt  that  thou  hadst  been  bereft 

Of  all  save  me.     Thy  heart  is  sore, 


32  RAE. 

Poor  Maidee  !  I  have  ever  tried 

To  be  a  mother  unto  thee. 
My  selfish  heart  hath  bade  me  hide 

All  knowledge  of  thy  pedigree. 

XIII. 

"  Here  in  this  box  on  which  I  sit 

Is  her  rich  trousseau  pack'd  away. 
I  will  unlock  it ;   some  will  fit, 

For  thou  art  tall  as  she  to-day." 
She  stooped,  and  from  a  hidden  nook 

Produced  a  key  of  rusty  steel, 
Opened  the  box,  bade  Maidee  look. 

Aladdin's  lamp  could  not  reveal 
To  her  dazed  sight  a  richer  store. 

Her  woman's  instinct  well  could  feel 
Their  contrast  to  the  garb  she  wore. 

XIV. 

Rich  lace,  like  morning's  misty  breath, 
Like  fleecy  clouds  on  azure  sky, 

Like  cobwebs  spanning  broom  and  heath, 
With  other  treasures,  caught  her  eye. 


SIR   RAE. 

A  double  locket,  rich  and  rare, 
With  miniature  on  either  side, 

Jean  handed  her  with  tender  care. 
The  first,  a  face  with  manly  pride. 


33 


"THE  MOUNTAIN    BIRD    WOULD   PLUME   HIS  WING."  page  24. 

She  whispered  softly,  "  This  is  he, 
Thy  father,  noble,  brave,  and  great ;" 

Then  turned  the  other,  "  This  is  she 

Who  shared  with  him  her  heart  and  fate. 

5 


34  SIR  RAE. 

Ah  !  beautiful  was  Lady  Clare  ; 

More  lovely  in  maternal  pride  ; 
The  light  of  Heaven  made  her  fair 

As  an  immortal  when  she  died." 

xv. 

Long  Maidee  sat,  with  yearning  heart, 

And  gazed  upon  the  pictures  still ; 
With  other  things  she  took  no  part: 

Her  every  thought  they  seemed  to  fill. 
"  Sweet,  sainted  mother  !  bless  thy  child, 

Watch  o'er  me  with  thy  holy  light ; 
Let  no  dark  thought,  no  passion  wild, 

Thy  daughter's  conscience  ever  blight." 
Then  kissed  those  lips  that  seemed  to  smile 

In  innocence  and  beauty  rare ; 
With  heart  enraptured  all  the  while, 

Kept  murmuring  that  virgin  prayer. 
Again  her  father's  picture  she 
Turned,  and  embraced  it  fervently. 

XVI. 

"  Oh,  Jean,  he  lives  !     I  feel  his  breath 
Upon  my  lips  in  warmer  glow  ! 


RAE.  ~r 

So  different  from  the  calm  of  death. 

Oh,  Jean,  he  lives  !    It  must  be  so  !" 
New  light  of  joy  illumed  her  eyes 

One  moment,  as  the  setting  sun 
Illuminates  the  western  skies 

Before  its  day  of  light  is  done. 
"  A  father's  love  I  yet  may  know. 

Jean,  don't  look  sad,  and  thus  destroy 
The  hope  that  animates  me  so ; 

New  life  seems  given  me  on  earth, 

And  all  my  sorrow  changed  to  mirth." 

XVII. 

Jean  shook  her  head,  but  waiting  stood, 

To  place  the  pictures  back  again. 
"'Tis  wrong  to  hope.     Oh,  would  I  could 

Give  thee  that  comfort  'mid  thy  pain  ! 
Thou  hast  been  christened — for  I  bowed 

With  thee  beside  thy  mother's  bed — 
The  names  of  both — Clare  Pierre  St.  Cloud, 

But  Maidee  I  have  called  instead ; 
It  suited  better  our  poor  state, 

While  I,  despised  and  shunned  by  all, 
Claimed  no  alliance  with  the  great, 

To  dare  high-sounding  names  to  call. 


36  SIR  RAE. 

But  thou  canst  wear  it  from  this  day. 
We  must  from  here  at  once  away." 

XVIII. 

New  impulse  sprang  in  Maidee's  heart, 

Unknown  before  for  poor  old  Jean ; 
Who  of  her  life  had  formed  a  part 

In  struggling  years  of  toil  and  pain. 
She  clasped  her  in  a  fond  embrace, 

With  loving,  filial  gratitude  ; 
Kissing  her  cold,  hard,  wrinkled  face, 

The  while  her  own  all  tear-bedewed. 
"  Dear,  generous  Jean !     I  love  thee  now 

Forgive  my  wayward  girlishness. 
No  cloud  of  sorrow  to  thy  brow, 

Or  aught  that  ever  can  distress 
Thee  in  the  future.     Thou  hast  given 

Of  all  thy  scanty  store  to  me; 
With  wisdom's  precepts  thou  hast  striven 

To  train  my  mind  as  it  should  be, 
Friend  of  my  sainted  mother,  who 
Hast  proved  so  generous,  noble,  true !" 


SIR  RAE. 
XIX. 

Jean  struggled  with  a  conscious  wrong, 

And  answered,  "  I  should  have  made  known 

That  great  estates  to  thee  belong, 

Which  but  for  me  had  been  thine  own." 


37 


"BENEATH    A    SULTRY    SOUTHERN    SKY."  Page  31. 

She  took  a  suit  of  gray  complete 

From  out  the  box  for  Maidee's  wear, 

Some  shoes  to  cover  those  wee  feet 

Which  never  more  should  wander  bare. 


38  -S/ff  RAE. 

She  helped  her  doff  the  worn  cocoon, 
And  from  its  lowly  fetters  hie, 

Saying  she  feared  that  all  too  soon 
She'd  turn  into  a  butterfly. 

It  sounded  strange  for  Jean  to  joke, 

With  trembling  voice  e'en  as  she  spoke. 

xx. 

Costumed  as  high-born  maiden,  then 

She  whispered,  "Jean,  I'd  like  to  go 
Once  more  to  visit  Hawthorn  Glen  ; 

Those  scenes  I  ne'er  again  may  know." 
"  Yes,  go,  protected  by  the  prayer 

I  heard  thee  murmur,  and  take  heed 
Thy  stay  be  short.     Be  this  thy  care, 

That  none  may  yet  thy  secret  read." 
Through  hawthorn  bloom  and  heather  sweet 

She  hurried  on  with  blushing  face, 
Crushing  the  harebells  'neath  her  feet, 

Until  she  reached  the  trysting-place. 
There  was  one  missing.     Now,  alone, 
She  leaned  beside  the  mossy  stone. 


S//?  RAE. 

XXI. 

Tears,  all  unbidden,  yet  as  true 
As  mountain-shower,  her  eyes  bedew. 
She  sighed,  "  He  will  not  come  again, 
And  yet  I  see  the  foot-prints  plain 
Of — yes,  his  own  and  Dapple  Gray ! 
He  surely  has  been  here  to-day. 
Perhaps  some  trophy  he  has  left ; 
I'll  seek  for  it  within  the  cleft 
Of  rocks,  where  I  would  place  a  flower 
When  he  had  missed  our  trysting-hour. 
Ah,  yes  !  'tis  here."     Unfolding  there 
A  crumpled  leaf,  a  tress  of  hair 
Twined  through  a  little  ring  of  gold, 
Set  round  with  rubies,  then  a  fold 
Of  paper,  written  hastily : 
"Maidee,  my  darling,  must  this  be? 

XXII. 

"  I've  sought  this  morn  to  meet  you  here, 

And  now,  alas  !  I  sadly  fear 

I  must  depart  before  again 

We  meet ;  the  thought  is  cruel  pain, 


39 


40  SSX  RAE. 

That  I  must  leave,  and  live  to  prove 
Long  years,  ere  I  can  claim  your  love 
Till  then  adieu  ;  I  must  not  wait. 
May  all  good  angels  guard  your  fate  ! 
I  could  not  leave  before  a  friend 
For  you  I'd  found.     You  can  depend 
Upon  the  one  who  seeks  you  here. 
I've  told  her  all ;  you  need  not  fear. 
The  Lady  Margery  will  take 
You  to  her  heart  for  my  poor  sake. 
Go  with  her,  Maidee ;  that  will  be 
The  only  thought  to  comfort  me. 
Farewell  again  !     Imagine  this 
Prophetic  of  our  future  bliss." 

XXIII. 

Spell-bound  she  sat,  she  could  not  move 
While  conning  o'er  those  words  of  love  ; 
The  pattering  feet  of  Dapple  Gray 
She  seemed  to  hear  in  mocking  play 
Upon  her  poor  heart  all  unstrung. 
When  out  from  the  tall  grass  among 
She  saw  him  prancing  up  the  hill, 
More  at  his  own  than  rider's  will, — 


RAE. 

A  stately  lady,  in  whose  face 
Was  the  proud  calm  of  noble  race. 
A  mounted  groom  behind  her  rode, 
But  halted  where  the  brooklet  flowed. 
Maidee,  surprised,  no  ease  could  feel, 
The  lady's  heart  seemed  cased  in  steel ; 
While  true  to  Rae,  she  could  not  hide 
Her  cold  reserve,  reluctant  pride. 

XXIV. 

Not  e'en  the  tear-stained,  lovely  face. 
That  blushing  shrank,  with  timid  grace, 
Could  win  one  smile  of  greeting  there. 
The  sight  of  one  so  very  fair, 
So  dangerous  to  the  absent  Rae, 
The  lady  deigned  slight  courtesy. 
"The  mountain  Maidee,  I  presume? 
By  promise  to  Sir  Rae  I've  come. 
How  generous  of  my  cousin  Rae 
To  think  of  you,  when  sent  away 
To  cure  him  of  his  boyish  love, 
Which  we,  of  course,  do  not  approve ! 
He  told  me  all :  your  lowly  lot, 
Your  poverty,  the  haunted  cot ; 

6 


SIR   RAE. 

The  witch,  your  mother ;  but  I've  come 
To  offer  you  a  pleasant  home. 
One  of  my  maids  is  now  quite  ill, 
I  think  that  you  her  place  can  fill." 

xxv. 

Hot  blushes  flushed  o'er  Maidee's  face, 
Then  deathly  pallor  took  their  place ; 
Her  wounded  feelings  she  would  hide, 
As,  with  a  trembling  voice,  replied, 
"  Sir  Rae  was  kind  to  think  of  me, 
But  what  you  offer  cannot  be. 
I  thank  you,  lady,  all  the  same, 
And  blush  that  I  have  been  to  blame. 
As  children  we  have  met  each  day, 

And  grown  to  love,  as  children  love. 
For  this  he  has  been  sent  away ; 

And,  your  forgiving  heart  to  prove, 
You  offer  me  a  servant's  place. 

I'll  prove  as  noble  in  my  strength, 
And  lift  the  shadow,  that  no  trace 

Of  my  existence  may  at  length 
Restore  Sir  Rae,  for  I  shall  go 
Where  he  nor  his  may  ever  know." 


HERE    IN    THIS   BOX    ON   WHICH    I    SIT 

IS   HER   RICH   TROUSSEAU   PACK'D   AWAY." 


Page  32. 


...  .  _  Y  . 
X   . 


SIR  RAE. 


XXVI. 


The  lady  urged  up  Dapple  Gray, 
But  he  refused  to  go  away. 
Quickly  to  Maidee's  side  he  sped, 
Laid  on  her  arm  his  graceful  head, 
While  with  his  soft,  brown,  gazelle  eyes 
Looked  into  hers  with  pained  surprise. 
What  wonder,  then,  her  wounded  pride 
Yielded  to  love,  and  by  his  side 
She  fondly  stood  caressing  him. 
The  Lady  Margery's  eyes  grew  dim 
In  sympathy,  while  watching  there 
The  fond  caress  of  that  strange  pair. 
"  Lady,  excuse  me  ;  Dapple  Gray 
I've  seen  and  petted  every  day. 
Would  you  object  that  I  should  twine 
Around  his  neck  this  flowering  vine  ? 
I  thank  you,  lady  ;  now  good-by. 
Sweet  pet,  whose  love  and  sympathy 
Have  warmed  my  heart,  once  more  adieu." 
Gathering  her  dress  from  falling  dew, 
She  left  the  glen  and  hurried  on, 
As  if  the  day  and  life  were  one. 


CANTO    THIRD. 


i. 

RAE  was  descendant  of  a  noble  clan, 

Such  as  we  read  of  in  old  Scotland's  glory, 
When  castles,  marshal'd  on  a  warlike  plan, 

Furnished  the  theme  for  many  a  thrilling  story 
The  same  warm  blood  that  kindled  in  his  sire, 

Making  him  foremost  in  the  ranks  of  old, 
Glowed  in  Rae's  heart,  an  ever-living  fire, 

And  made  his  love  as  chivalrous  as  bold. 
Long  was  the  struggle  that  eventful  day, 

After  the  meeting  on  the  mountain-side. 
His  uncle  ne'er  before  could  say  him  nay, 

But  now  he  felt  that  it  was  due  his  pride 
To  check  the  callant  in  his  wild  career, 

And  crush  at  once  the  hope  to  him  so  dear. 
46 


SIR  RAE. 

II. 

With  partial  fondness  every  fault  to  hide, 

Watching  the  lad  develop  to  the  man, 
He  felt  for  him  more  than  a  father's  pride, 

As  the  next  heir  and  chieftain  of  his  clan. 
Himself  as  free,  in  his  wild  sporting  life, 

As  mountain  eagle  soaring  o'er  the  world, 
A  bachelor,  unfettered  by  a  wife, 

He  through  the  vortex  of  his  fancy  whirled, 
Leaving  young  Rae  to  tutors  he  could  rule. 

His  pet,  a  noble  hunter,  Dapple  Gray, 
Named  for  his  color,  and  when  free  from  school 

He'd  gallop  o'er  the  crags  and  cliffs  away. 
'Twas  well  for  him  to  breathe  the  mountain  air, 
But  no  one  dreamed  the  danger  lurking  there. 

in. 

Fleet  as  the  wind  was  his  gay,  noble  steed, 
His  soft,  brown  eyes  alight  with  fervent  glow, 

The  very  purest  of  Arabian  breed, 

His  master's  every  wish  he  seemed  to  know. 

'Mid  starry  broom  and  tufted  heather  sweet, 
Up,  up,  the  winding,  cragged  steep  he'd  go, 


SIR  RAE. 

Until  he  halted  in  that  wild  retreat, 
Nor  any  sign  of  weariness  he'd  show. 

Maidee  would  twine  his  neck  with  garland  flowers, 
While  he  would  watch  them  in  their  merry  play, 

Or  tumble  down  their  mimic  pebble  towers, 
Until  the  setting  of  the  god  of  day 

Lengthened  the  shadows ;  then  he'd  let  them  know, 

By  cunning  gestures,  it  was  time  to  go. 

IV. 

Lord  Duncan,  with  a  strong  opposing  will, 

Bade  Rae  forget  his  love,  to  ne'er  again 
Indulge  such  visions  wild,  at  once  to  kill 

His  hopes  in  life ;  and  it  was  all  in  vain 
Rae  urged  that  she  was  wonderfully  fair, 

That  she  was  beautiful,  was  more  refined 
Than  any  high-born  lass ;  none  could  compare 

In  the  rich  culture  of  her  noble  mind. 
What  if  her  costume  were  not  quite  complete  ? 

That  old  dame  was  not  blessed  with  goodly  store. 
It  suited  well  that  wild  and  lone  retreat, 

The  scanty  garments  that  his  goddess  wore. 
She  needed  not  the  ornaments  of  wealth, 
Rich  in  her  youthful  loveliness  and  health. 


SIR  RAE. 
V. 

The  proud  old  lord  but  laughed  in  cold  disdain. 

No  sympathy  had  he  with  words  of  love. 
Rae's  earnest  pleading  had  been  all  in  vain, 

And  his  attempt  that  haughty  heart  to  move. 
He  said,  "  Young  callant,  it  will  do  you  good 

To  change  the  scene,  and  you  must  go  away." 
This  stern  command  was  quickly  understood, 

And  preparation  made  to  start  next  day. 
None  but  felt  sad  to  miss  the  jovial  glee, 

Such  as  the  lad  had  meted  to  them  all. 
With  tear-dimmed  eyes  they  gathered  round  to  see 

The  young  heir  leave  his  old  ancestral  hall ; 
And  oft  a  yearning  glance  he  cast 
When  by  the  cliff  and  burn  he  passed. 

VI. 

But  when  the  Lady  Margery  returned, 
And  told  Lord  Duncan  all  the  lassie  said, 

He  for  his  banished  nephew  sadly  yearned, 
As  with  him  all  his  social  cheer  had  fled. 

A  few  days  after,  when  the  witch  had  flown, 
He  sent  with  haste  to  call  Rae  back  again. 


)  SIR  RAE. 

With  foaming  steed,  his  mission  to  make  known, 
The  cadie*  sped  o'er  mountain-pass  and  plain. 

Right  glad  was  Rae  his  uncle  to  obey. 
Impelled  with  hope  of  a  still  greater  joy, 

In  eager  haste,  impatient  of  delay, 

Dreaming  that  naught  in  future  should  annoy. 

'Twas  like  a  crushing  blow  when  they 

Told  him  the  elves  had  flown  away. 

*  Messenger. 


"THUS    MANY    DAYS    THEY   JOURNEYED    THROUGH, 
ERE   THE   OLD    CASTLE   CAME    IN    VIEW." 


55- 


CANTO    FOURTH. 

i. 

'TwAS  at  the  early  dawn  of  day 
Jean  started  on  her  dreary  way. 
Two  cartmen  came,  and  quickly  stowed 
Boxes  and  traps  into  one  load. 
Together  with  the  dame  and  lass 
They  jolted  down  the  mountain-pass. 
One  cartman  sung  an  old,  rude  song 
As  their  poor  beasties  gaed  along, 
And  as  he  sung,  the  other  tried 
To  tease  the  lass ;  he  leering  eyed 
With  insolence  and  rougher  jeer, 
Only  restrained  by  dread  and  fear 
Of  the  old  dame  as  witch,  which  she 

Could  plainly  see,  and  added  more 
By  whispering  to  each  nodding  tree, 

In  language  they  ne'er  heard  before. 


53 


54  RAE. 


II. 

Poor  Maidee,  grieved  and  sore  at  heart, 

Of  her  surroundings  had  no  care ; 
And  she  felt  sad  thus  to  depart 

From  highland  scenes  and  mountain  air. 
Down  the  steep  sides  of  crags  they  went ; 

The  dame  had  planned  her  journey  well : 
The  strength  of  men  and  beast  was  spent 

When  they  had  reached  the  rude  hotel. 
Some  words  the  cartmen  told  the  host 

Of  the  witch-wife  and  bonny  lass. 
Horse-shoes  soon  gleamed  from  every  post 

Through  which  the  two  were  forced  to  pass. 
Wearied  and  shaken,  Maidee  slept, 
While  Jean  her  watchful  vigils  kept. 

in. 

Fair  lay  the  sleeper  when  the  morn 
Gave  its  first  tints  of  misty  gray. 

Jean  watched  her  thus,  for  she  had  borne 
The  trials  well  of  yesterday. 

"  Haste,  child!  the  hours  are  speeding  on, 
The  wild  birds  sing  their  roundelay. 


SIR  RAE. 

We  must  make  ready  and  begone, 
Nor  longer  waste  the  light  of  day.'' 

Then  quickly  from  her  couch  she  sprung, 
With  eager  haste  prepared  to  go, 

Boxes  and  household  traps  among, 
Like  gypsies  going  to  a  show. 

Their  quaint  old  style  of  years  gone  by 

Attracted  many  a  vulgar  eye. 

IV. 

Jean,  scowling,  muttered  jargon  worse 

Than  she  herself  could  well  explain. 
The  rabble  thought  it  was  a  curse, 

And  did  not  venture  near  again. 
Maidee,  her  hat  drawn  o'er  her  face, 

Was  hidden  in  the  cumbrous  load, 
Until  they  reached  their  halting-place, 

Upon  a  broad,  well-traveled  road. 
Thus  many  days  they  journeyed  through, 
Ere  the  old  castle  came  in  view. 

v. 

But  now,  at  last,  they  stopped  before 
A  structure  grand,  of  mossy  stone, 


-S77?  RAE. 

Where  Jean  had  lived  in  days  of  yore 

And  all  its  luxuries  had  known. 
The  cartmen  crossed  themselves  again 

With  mingled  fear  and  blank  surprise. 
The  dame  was  Fairy  Queen,  'twas  plain ; 

Her  castle  stood  before  their  eyes, 
In  all  its  ancient  beauty  great, 

Draped  in  its  ivy,  tartan  green, 
While  its  broad  wealth  of  land,  estate, 

O'er  mount  and  plain  could  far  be  seen. 
"  Maidee  !     Be  firm  !     Come  in  with  me, 
For  this  thy  future  home  shall  be." 

VI. 

A  haughty  porter,  not  inclined 

Such  doubtful  guests  to  entertain, 
Bade  them  some  other  lodging  find. 

Jean  answered,  "  It  is  very  plain 
Thou  dost  not  know  me ;  just  as  well. 

It  is  thy  master  I  would  see, 
For  I  have  many  things  to  tell 

That  he  will  gladly  welcome  me. 
Say  to  him,  Jean  would  speak  to  him. 

The  old  earl  must  be  quite  infirm, 


SIR  RAE. 

For  when  I  left,  his  eyes  were  dim ; 

I  scarcely  thought  he'd  last  this  term. 
Haste  thee !  for  I  have  that  to  tell 
Will  make  his  heart  with  gladness  swell." 


57 


A   STRUCTURE   GRAND,  OF   MOSSY   STONE."  Page  55. 


VII. 


To  disobey  he  did  not  dare, 

But  ushered  them  within  the  hall, 


58  SIR  RAE. 

Where  knightly  armor  glittered  there 

In  bold  relief  against  the  wall. 
"  Two  gypsy  tramps,  my  lord,  are  here, 

Craving  an  audience.     They  say 
They've  that  to  tell  your  heart  will  cheer, 

And  make  you  bless  this  happy  day." 
The  one  addressed  was  carelessly 

Reclining  on  a  Turkish  chair ; 
He  answered,  "Bring  the  tramps  to  me, 

But  of  their  doings  have  a  care." 
One  moment  more,  two  glances  met, 
Such  as  in  life  they'd  ne'er  forget. 

VIII. 

"  General  St.  Cloud  !  living,  and  well !" 

"Jean!"  shrieked  the  general.     "Where  is  she, 
My  child,  you  took  with  you  to  dwell  ? 

Speak  !     Have  you  brought  her  back  to  me  ?" 
"  Yes.     Clare,  thy  father !     Answer  him  ; 

I  cannot,  for  my  failing  breath, 
So  heavy  now,  my  eyes  are  dim. 

He  lives  for  thee  !     For  me  is — death." 
Slowly  she  sank  upon  a  seat, 

Her  journey  o'er,  her  mission  done. 


/ 

/  & 


*<r  ,- 
^K 


^v'x          M    /s    xv 

ty^.  ^,  -^K 


• 


IT   IS  THY    MASTER    1   WOULD   SEE."  fug!  56. 


SSX  RAE. 

"  Father  and  child,  farewell !     I  meet 
The  Lady  Clare,  the  sainted  one  !" 
Her  last  words  as  she  passed  away 
With  closing  light  of  setting  day. 

IX. 

In  bitter  grief  poor  Maidee  cried, 

"  My  more  than  mother,  live  for  me  !" 
She  kneeled  in  horror  by  her  side, 

Clasping  her  waist  in  agony. 
The  old  straw  hat  fell  to  the  floor, 

Freeing  a  flood  of  golden  hair; 
Even  amid  her  grief  she  bore 

Such  likeness  to  the  Lady  Clare. 
The  general  caught  her  to  his  breast, 
In  wild  delight  his  child  caressed. 

x. 

'Twas  little  more  she  knew  that  night; 

With  tender  hands  on  downy  bed 
They  fondly  laid  her.     Visions  light 

Their  soothing  influence  o'er  her  shed 
Sweet  sounds  of  music,  low  and  clear, 

Blending  the  murmur  of  sea-shells, 


61 


62  SIR  RAE. 

Or  warbling  birds  when  hovering  near. 

In  dreams  she  saw  the  heather-bells, 
The  Highland  crags,  the  fern,  the  brook, 

Her  childhood's  friend,  the  noble  Rae. 
She  turned  the  leaves  of  memory's  book, 

Where  pictured  all  before  her  lay, 
With  Dapple  Gray  among  the  flowers, 
Biding  the  lovers'  trysting  hours. 

XI. 

"  Is  this  a  dream  ?     Am  I  awake  ? 

Jean,  are  you  sleeping  ?     Are  you  near  ? 
Oh,  what  a  journey  for  my  sake 

You  took  in  pain  to  bring  me  here !" 
The  morning  sun  shone  clear  and  bright. 

The  grand  old  chamber  where  she  lay 
Was  all  aglow  with  warmth  and  light; 

Her  confused  memory  cleared  away. 
A  gentle  matron,  near  the  bed, 

Placed  her  cool  hand  upon  her  brow. 
"  Please  don't  disturb  yourself,"  she  said  ; 

"  But  take  the  rest  so  needed  now." 
Then  silently  she  watched  her  there, 
As  infant  in  a  mother's  care. 


SIR  RAE. 
XII. 

Then  all  the  past  came  back  again, — 

The  journey  rough,  the  scoffs,  the  jeers, 
The  sudden  death  of  faithful  Jean. 

Her  heart,  as  eyes,  seemed  drowned  in  tears. 
Could  she  believe,  'mid  the  alloy 

Of  bitter  grief,  this  was  her  home  ? 
Her  father's  warm  embrace,  his  joy ; 

No  more  a  vagrant  waif  to  roam  ? 
'Twas  well  within  her  curtained  bed 

She  there  could  still  her  troubled  breast 
And  clear  her  poor,  bewildered  head, 

As  well  as  take  the  needed  rest, 
Till  the  sad  mourning  rites  were  paid, 
And  Jean  within  the  tomb  was  laid. 


CANTO    FIFTH. 

i. 

A  HAPPY  man  was  Pierre  St.  Cloud, 

The  brave  old  warrior  honored  great. 
Of  Maidee  he  was  justly  proud, 

As  mistress  of  the  old  estate ; 
And  as  a  duteous  daughter  she 

Clung  to  him  with  a  love  sincere, 
In  the  glad  change  of  destiny, 

His  now  declining  years  to  cheer. 
A  gentle  sadness  all  the  while 

Was  blended  with  her  happiness  ; 
It  cast  its  shadow  o'er  each  smile, 

Each  look  of  love,  and  fond  caress. 
So  much  had  they  to  ask  and  say, 
That  time  too  quickly  pass'd  each  day. 


64 


RAE. 


II. 


"  Jean  taught  you  all  that  you  should  know 
Up  in  her  little  Highland  nest. 

I  thought  not,  when  we  bade  her  go, 
That  with  your  love  I'd  e'er  be  bless'd. 


"THE    SPORTING  SEASON    WAS   ADVANCED."  Page  69. 

Poor  Jean  !     You  had  no  other  friend  ? 

They  called  her  witch,  you  elf  and  fay. 
Was  there  no  child  to  cheer  your  hours? 

No  little  mate  with  you  to  play  ?" 


56  -S^?  RAE. 

She  answered,  "  I  had  birds  and  flowers, 
And  by  the  pebbled  brook  each  day, 

With  its  bright  gem-like  stones,  for  hours 
I'd  play  and  plash,  or  wander  o'er 

The  steepest  crags  where  mosses  grew, 
And  from  their  jagged  depths  they  bore 

The  treasured  bells  of  lovely  blue." 

in. 

"  Then  you  grew  up  alone  ;  no  mate 

To  play  and  plash  the  burn  with  you. 
My  darling  Clare !     I  bless  the  fate 

That  bade  old  Jean  at  last  prove  true." 
Thus  they  would  talk ;  he  questions  ask, 

So  she  from  him  could  scarcely  hide 
Her  heart's  deep  secret;  hard  the  task, 

When  in  her  trust  he  took  such  pride. 
One  day  he  asked  had  she  e'er  seen 

Lord  Duncan,  on  the  mountain-side. 
Since  to  his  glen  he  oft  had  been, 

And  joined  in  many  a  sporting  ride. 


RAE. 


IV. 

With  blushing  face,  confusion  deep, 

She  could  not  hide  in  pebbled  brooks 
The  secret  she  had  tried  to  keep. 

Her  father  read  the  tell-tale  looks 
Ere  yet  her  lips  betrayed  to  him 

Her  early  love,  confessed  at  last, 
Which  caused  his  eyes  with  tears  to  dim  ; 

The  trials  sad  through  which  she'd  pass'd. 
"'Twas  you,  then,  robbed  the  eagle's  nest!" 

He,  laughing,  caught  her  blushing  face, 
And  fondly  there  his  child  caress'd, 

Rewarding  her  confiding  grace. 
"  The  misalliance  gossip  said 

Sir  Rae  had  made  with  mountain  lass, 
And  that  the  bonny  witch  had  fled. 

How  strange  that  this  should  come  to  pass  ! 

v. 

"  And  he  was  sent  away,  poor  lad  ! 

Imagine  all  his  sorrow,  pain." 
Then  glancing  at  her  face  so  sad, 

He  clasped  her  to  his  heart  again. 


58 


"  I  understand  all  now  !     Tis  plain 

'Twas  that  which  roused  in  Jean  the  ire 
That  made  her  seek  at  last  to  gain 

For  you  the  castle  of  your  sire. 
The  laddie  wore  a  tartan  gay. 

How  looks  he  ?     Is  he  strong  and  brave  ? 
He  asked  you  for  his  wife,  you  say  ? 

And  love  for  love  the  chieftain  gave. 
Dry  up  thy  tears  ;  thy  blushes  keep. 
I'll  write  to  Duncan  ere  I  sleep." 


LIBRARY 

j|  UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA. 


CANTO    SIXTH. 


i. 

THE  sporting  season  was  advanced ; 

The  hounds  bay'd  deep,  the  hunters  pranced ; 

The  forests  rung  with  horn  and  shout 

From  sportsmen  flitting  in  and  out. 

The  castle  thronged  with  many  a  guest, 

Who  in  admiring  terms  expressed 

Their  compliments  to  Lady  Clare, 

The  lovely,  genial  hostess  fair. 

Lord  Duncan's  greeting  was  sincere. 

"  St.  Cloud  !   your  glorious  daughter  here, 

With  youth  and  every  grace  combined, 

Touches  my  heart ;  at  last  I  find 

I  have  one.     By  your  leave  I'll  prove 

Worthy  to  win  her  pure,  young  love." 

69 


SIR  RAE. 

II. 

"  I  thank  you,  Duncan,  that  my  prize 

Has  found  such  favor  in  your  eyes ; 

But  I  propose  another  mate, — 

One  of  your  blood  and  lineage  great, — 

The  young  Sir  Rae,  whose  youth  would  be 

A  fitter  mate  for  such  as  she." 

Duncan  replied,  "  The  witch's  spell 

O'er  that  poor  lad  will  ever  dwell. 

He  shuns  all  gay  society, 

And  would  not  have  been  here  with  me 

But  that  he  thought  no  one  but  men 

He'd  meet  here  in  this  quiet  glen. 

in. 

41  Regard  him,  general !     There  he  stands. 

In  noble  form  our  chief  expands. 

But  note  his  sad  and  anxious  brow ; 

The  witch's  spell  is  on  him  now." 

"  Present  him,  Duncan  !     I  would  know 

The  valiant  Troubadour;  for  so 

They  died  of  love  in  olden  time ; 

I've  read  it  oft  in  songs  and  rhyme." 


STANDING   ALONE    WAS    LADY    CLARK."  page  73. 


RAE. 

Lord  Duncan  then  presented  Rae. 
The  courteous  host  soon  led  the  way 
Within  the  hall,  where  gathered  near 
The  blazing  fire,  in  social  cheer, 
Were  lady  guests,  who  talked  away 
As  if  they'd  very  much  to  say, 
Of  little  nothings  that  so  please 
When  rendered  with  a  graceful  ease. 

IV. 

Standing  alone  was  Lady  Clare ; 
Her  wealth  of  flowing,  golden  hair 
Unbound,  save  by  a  snood  of  blue, 
Its  wavy  tresses  blended  through. 
Her  dress  of  white,  so  simply  made, 
The  symmetry  of  form  displayed, 
In  stately  dignity  and  grace, 
Crowned  by  the  beauty  of  her  face. 
Her  glorious  eyes  with  fringes  deep, 
Half  veiled,  as  if  in  check  to  keep 
Expectant  joy,  for  her  in  store ; 
She  could  but  hope,  yet  dared  no  more. 
She  stood  beside  an  antique  stand, 
Twining  the  vines  with  one  fair  hand, 


5//?   RAE. 

The  other  pressed  against  her  side, 
The  beating  of  her  heart  to  hide. 

v. 

"  Sir  Rae  !  my  daughter,  Lady  Clare  !v 
Bewildered,  Rae  could  only  stare 
In  Maidee's  earnest,  lovely  eyes, 
Mute  with  great  wonder  and  surprise. 
Until  the  guests  were  all  as  naught, 
As  drinking  in  her  glance  he  sought 
Her  answering  love  ;  for  it  was  she. 
Who  could  explain  such  mystery  ? 
In  great  surprise  Lord  Duncan  said, 
"  The  bonny  witch  hath  surely  fled, 
St.  Cloud !     I  cannot  understand 
Such  hearts  as  Rae  has  at  command. 
This  morning  he  was  in  such  mood 
That,  by  the  saints  of  Holy  Rood, 
I  feared  that  he  a  vow  had  ta'en 
A  hermit  ever  to  remain." 

VI. 

The  general,  laughing,  then  explained 
How  he  his  long-lost  daughter  gained. 


RAE, 

"  To  gain  and  yet  again  to  lose ; 
For  such  true  love  I  can't  refuse." 
He  cast  a  merry  glance  at  Rae, 
Who  answered,  ".At  an  early  day, 


75 


A    GROOM    LED    FORWARD    DAPPLE   GRAY." 


Page  76. 


So  please  my  uncle,  by  your  grace, 
I  pray  our  nuptials  may  take  place." 
"This  is  the  Maidee  !     Then  no  more 
I'll  doubt  the  witchery  she  bore," 
Lord  Duncan  said.     "  No  fay  more  fair. 
Embrace  thy  uncle,  Lady  Clare ! 


75  SIR  RAE. 

Lady,  forgive  my  rougher  mood, 
For  all  is  well  that  ends  in  good." 

VII. 

There  was  joy  in  the  Highlands, 

Joy  in  the  hall; 
Bright  garlands  were  decking  the 

Old  chapel  wall. 
And  brilliant  the  guests  in  their 

Grandest  array, 
For  the  chief  of  their  clan  was 

Wedded  that  day. 

The  bride  in  her  flowing  lace  was  fair 
As  the  beautiful  dreams  of  angels  are. 
Costly  and  precious  the  gifts  from  all, 
Until  at  last,  with  neigh  and  call, 
In  white  and  gold  his  trappings  gay, 
A  groom  led  forward  Dapple  Gray. 
No  veil  from  him  his  friend  could  hide ; 
He  tugged  his  rein  to  reach  her  side 
Scarcely  could  they  his  ardor  check, 
Until  around  his  arched  neck 
A  myrtle- wreath  she  fondly  hung 
His  flowing,  glossy  mane  among. 


RAE.  77 

Rae  whispered,  "  Lady  Margery 

Of  this  last  gift  reminded  me, 

As  one  she  knew  you  most  would  prize." 

She  answered  not  save  with  her  eyes, 

And  the  mute  thanks,  so  eloquent, 

Of  a  heart  filled  with  sweet  content. 


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